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Chapter 2: Practically Perfect Pregnancy
I had one of the easiest pregnancies ever documented. No really, it’s true. Pregnancy was so easy for me it was almost embarrassing! I was actually waiting to relish the discomfort of pregnancy. I made a vow that I give thanks for the nausea, the constant bathroom trips and the waddling. I vowed not to complain, but be thankful. The kicker: I never really experienced any discomfort.
I experienced absolutely no morning sickness and no nausea of any kind. I did not become queasy in the morning. I ate the same ol’ spicy foods with no thought of experiencing any heart burn. I also had no breast tenderness, no hemorrhoids, and no swelling of my hands or feet. In fact, other than a little less sleep and my clothes getting a little bit bigger, pregnancy was like just any other day. I know there are millions of readers out there wanting to throw something at me, and you are not alone. I secretly began to yearn for the trips to my doctor’s office to gloat a bit to the ladies there too.
For this next section I know that women will be nodding their heads, thinking back to their own similar experiences. For you guys out there, putting a whole bunch of hormonally charged pregnant women in a room is somewhat like a locker room. You put a bunch of twenty or thirty something year old guys in a locker room and ask them to tell the others about that high school football tackle that gave you the concussion or of the time you hit the game winning homerun in the bottom of the ninth to win to advance to sections. You know that whole testosterone charged atmosphere of one-up-man-ship? That’s what it’s like—only a bit more civilized.
Most women sitting in the doctor’s office would complain a bit to each other while waiting for their appointments. It seemed that only another pregnant woman could completely commiserate with the conditions experienced in pregnancy. The fact about pregnancy that most men do not know about it is that it brings out our own sense of competition. The visits held a feeling of “one-upmanship” among the future mothers. Sally would tell others about “hackin’ up a lung” every morning for four solid months. Judy, a very petite athletic woman, would constantly complain about the “razor blades shooting out of her ass.” Apparently, a raisin sized crater of a hemroid oozing out of the anus constitutes, “the worst pain there is.” When it came my turn to share in the doctor’s office about the horrors of pregnancy, my only reply was, “Umm…I can no longer sleep on my stomach.” To which I heard the response from across the room, “You bitch.” That’s right. The ordinary, not-too-special girl became the girl every other girl envied.
I’m not sure when the connection between profanity and pregnancy pains began, but there definitely was an uncommon amount of comments laced liberally with swear words being brandished about that office at my lack of symptoms. At every one of my doctor’s visits, the same routine would happen. The women would exchange our little Mouseketeer roll-call in the waiting room, talk about the aches and pains of pregnancy, and after gloating a bit about the ease of my own, I’d get called to the back—my favorite part of every visit.
After weighing in, I would listen to the baby’s heart beat and feel the most immense joy you could ever imagine feeling. Then the doctor tells me that I was doing a wonderful job taking care of the pregnancy—which of course made me feel like the best mother on the face of the earth, even though I’d never seen my little boy’s face. Yes, a baby boy. My husband and I decided that we wanted to know the gender of this baby, though we agreed that the next one would be a surprise.
As the weeks wore on, I relished in the joys of pregnancy. I marveled at every little bump and kick. I used to lie on the couch, with my hands caressing my belly, just waiting to feel that little nudge. After years of trying to get pregnant, I was even enjoying my little man doing the Irish jig on my bladder which was the extent of the horrors I encountered. Each experience was to be treasured and filed away in my memory.
I must admit, I even didn’t mind the strangers staring at me as I began to become as wide as I was tall. I didn’t even mind the strange women rubbing my ever expanding belly in the mall, as if I was their own personal Buddha. Pregnancy liberates women to splurge and eat potato salad for breakfast or Chinese food at 11:00 at night. I was a miracle in process. I was given this blessing; I could find nothing but joy in it. I was so happy that I didn’t even mind that I rivaled a pony for size my last month of pregnancy. I was even happy when I made a liar out of my doctor
In week 38, I went to my standard once-week appointment, went through the same routine with the women, and the scale and the doctor, only to find out that I was zero percent dilated and zero percent effaced. The doctor assured me that it would be at least another week before I could meet my little William. I really do not condone name calling, but my doctor lies. LIAR!
My appointment was on Monday and on Tuesday I woke up with back spasms. Okay, so I was on my hands and knees mopping the kitchen floor on Monday night. I figured I nested a bit too much yesterday. This tenderness was expected and the first bit of real discomfort all pregnancy. In fact, after teaching a full day, I went to my parent’s house to ask Mom about her late pregnancy symptoms. I sat, laid down, stretched out, curled into a ball on my side, but nothing alleviated my discomfort. My back was throbbing. No position alleviated it. Finally, I had some sort of discomfort in which I could brag about at the doctor’s office.
You see, my pregnancy followed so closely to what my mother’s pregnancy, that when she said she never had back pain, I just wrote it off as doing too much or sleeping wrong. I vowed not to mop the kitchen floor on my hands and knees for the rest of the pregnancy. Wednesday night did not allow for a good night’s rest, but other than my aching back, I felt fine. I went to work; taught the entire day and thought “Man, I better try putting another pillow by my belly tonight.” I woke up Thursday and my back hurt worse than before. I decided the pillow was a bad idea. Late Monday night to early Thursday morning and the pain in my back worsened. This is where all you smug know-it-alls get to smirk at me. You guessed it, I was in labor—back labor.
Thursday morning, I readied for and went to work again. Only this time I decided to start timing my back twinges. 7:38 am, sitting alone in my classroom, I started counting. The next twinge arrived at 7:48. The next two twinges followed at 7:56 and 8:07 respectively. Students arrive; class starts, but I keep counting. Then, it finally dawned on me. I was having Braxton-hick’s contractions. Duh! The doctor told me wouldn’t have the baby this week. It had to be Braxton-hicks, right? By ten o’clock I knew I could not continue to teach anymore. I went to the office during mid-morning snack break brandishing my paper of timed twinges. The women in the office were more than willing to make sure my classes were covered for the rest of the day that I decided to go home. The vice principal even offered to drive me to the hospital. I declined; it was only false labor after all.
When I arrived home, I called my mom and told her about my twinges. She came over to wait and sit with me until my husband got off work at 2:00 p.m. For a couple hours she monitored my actions. She tried to convince me to go the hospital and get checked out. I was adamant that I would just be sent home. After all, my doctor did tell me I would not deliver this week. By the time my husband came home, she working tag team with Ryan, had convinced me to at least call my doctor’s office and tell them about my symptoms.
I called the office and they told me that I should go to the hospital just to get checked out. Of course, I got the Mom I told you so look. So my husband and I loaded up my overnight bag and set off for the hospital thirty minutes away. Calmly, I walked up to the maternity reception desk and proclaimed, “I may be in labor, but more than likely experiencing Braxton-Hicks.” She did not ask me any questions but admitted me to room three.
A nurse arrived within minutes. I handed her my timetable of twinges that I had started taking earlier that day. She asked, “So…you’ve only had pain since this morning.” I replied, “Yes.” My husband replied, “No!” at the same time. I told her about my back pain since late Monday night and mopping the floor. I also told her also that my doctor assured me the baby would not come this week. My doctor was such a liar. Apparently I’d been in labor for a while, because when the nurse finished examining me I had already dilated three centimeters. It was go time!
The next four epidural free hours were actually quite entertaining. Family and friends came and went. I experienced the pain, the discomfort, the achiness. I walked around the room, practicing my Lamaze breathing – riding out each contraction like a champion surfer. Let me throw a juicy little tidbit out here. I had planned, like Super Mom, to have the baby “au naturel.” I also promised myself that I would not scream the baby into the world. Eventually, I got one out of two—not too bad. I batted 500. Anyway, the family, friends and nurses all came and went.
Then, there was a shift change, more monitors hooked up, and the doctor arrived. Shortly later he produced a water hook, broke my water and my resolve to continue as Super Mom went with it.
Okay, perhaps this is an exaggeration. Shortly after breaking my water, my nurse called the doctor. After monitoring the baby’s heart beat, the doctor decided that the baby was experiencing extreme distress. Every time I had a contraction, I would literally squeeze the baby’s head and heart. No! I had waited too long and suffered too much for this to happen. It was also thought that by giving me an epidural, it might relax me and therefore relax the baby. So, even though I planned to be “Superwoman” having no epidural, for the benefit of the baby, I agreed to the epidural.
Within twenty minutes, I had met my new best friend, Mr. Epidural Man. The epidural did help relieve some of my pain, but that was secondary. The baby no longer encountered extreme distress. It was decided upon shortly after my epidural that I should be filled back up with water to help cushion my baby. That was a very surreal experience. I watched as a hose was hooked up to the sink in the room and then hooked up to me. I think it may have even traumatized my husband; it took him about a year before he drank out of a hose again. However, it did the trick. I went from being 4 centimeters to 8 centimeters to 10 centimeters quicker than Uncle Ben could cook his rice.
I started pushing at 11 o’clock pm. The doctor warned me once the head was out that William would have to be turned, and I would need to stop pushing. I follow directions really well, so that’s exactly what I did. I waited. The doctor instructed me, with my next contraction, to push. Getting into position, getting ready to push when I got the signal, but apparently nobody informed William to wait. He decided he did not want to wait for my next contraction; he just sort of popped out.
I had done it. We had done it. William was out, alive, crying a little, and one of the most gorgeous, wrinkly, squids I had ever seen in my life. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t think that every baby is a cute baby, but once William was cleaned up and I looked and saw him, my first thought was, “I don’t have an ugly baby.” Which was quickly followed by, “He’s got my nose and my husband’s ugly, gnarled, hideously deformed toes.” Okay, so that’s another exaggeration. I thought “He has Ryan’s ugly feet.” The nurses laid him on my chest, and my husband and I bonded with our son for the first hour of his life. Unbeknownst to me, this hour would be the longest stretch of time I would see my son in the next two weeks. I was going to die in a matter of hours.
William was born 4 pounds 15 ounces and about two weeks premature. It was decided that we should stay an extra day in the hospital for observation. The maternity staff apparently does not like to send a newborn home weighing less than 5 pounds. I had a slew of visitors that day. Family and friends came and went, bearing gifts, all wanting their time to hold William. Eventually the visitors tapered off. Around 7:00 pm, my husband and I were playing with William when my brother and sister-in-law came into the room, happy to share in the joy of our baby, again bearing gifts. Knowing how tiny William was, they brought preemie clothes. A tiny, little blue outfit. So perfect for my tiny, little, perfect son. I had just put the clothes back in the bag, when everything changed.
It was about this time I started to feel different. While watching my brother hold my son, I experienced a very painful sensation. It felt as if a giant axe blade hacked horizontally into the back of my shoulder blades so that hot water could be poured down the front and back of my rib cage. The sharp electrocuting pain was quickly conquered by a searing heat that radiated through my entire body. I felt as if my whole body decided to flush red hot flames. My arms, legs, torso and even my eyes felt scorched.
I remember saying “Something’s not right” and “Ryan, go get the nurse.” I don’t remember too much after that. I am told that I had a seizure, went in and out of consciousness and disobeyed a direct order from the doctor to move my leg. Apparently, I don’t take directions well afterall. While I do remember bits and pieces, I mostly remember waking up with my arms strapped to a bed, wires crossing over my body, unable to speak, and no baby by my side. Basically, I woke up terrified, confused, and though I did not know it at the time, days later. But let’s discuss what happened prior to my waking up. You know, the dying and the surgeries part of the story.
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